Mantra
by Frawley
Summary: Buffy attempts to cope with the events of "Dead Things" after the final exchange between herself and Tara.


Title: Mantra   
Author: Frawley   
Date: 8th February, 2002. 

Category: Songfic.   
Spoilers: Up to and including "Dead Things". 

Summary: Buffy attempts to cope with the events of "Dead Things" after the final exchange between herself and Tara. 

Comments: The third and final songfic featuring tracks by The Tea Party. The other two are Halcyon Days & Cathartik. They're only superficially connected, don't feel you're missing something here if you didn't read the others. This will be my last songfic for a while, and with luck, my last angst-ridden fic for a time as well. 

No dialog in this one, it's closer to Halcyon Days in style than Cathartik - meaning it's strictly Buffy's thoughts. 

Disclaimer: Joss owns most of it, I lay claim to the scraps. FOX can sod off. 

* * *

**MANTRA - by Frawley**

* * *

__

a thousand dreams within   
within me softly burn   
they burn the savage soul   
that twisted what it learned 

Dreams of Spike. Dreams of Katrina. Spike, in handcuffs, at her mercy, as she'd been at his earlier. He'd been surprisingly gentle. She had none of the same for him. 

Katrina, in his place. They were one and the same. She was killing them both, in different ways. Well, she had _thought_ she'd killed Katrina. Turned out it was Warren, the little creep. And no doubt Jonathan and that other one, as well. Arnold. No. Andy? _Andrew_. Another creep. Jonathan bothered her the most. Warren she could see – there was something twisted about a guy who specialized in sex toys that spoke back – and Andrew she didn't know, but Jonathan should have known better. How many times had she saved his proverbial bacon anyway? And to hook up with sex-toy boy... 

Spike. Wasn't that how she was treating him? **_Gross_** and **_obscene_**... 

She was killing Spike. Probably wouldn't succeed, given that he was already dead, but she was giving it her best. Beating him down, using him, and fighting to keep the walls around her up. To keep her feelings inside. Because they were wrong, after all. She might as well have really plunged that stake through his chest. She was killing hope – his hope that she might love him. Might care for him in any way whatsoever. By using him. Making it seem as if it was nothing more. By lying to both of them. 

Despite his ability to read her – that irritating, infuriating ability – he hadn't picked up that some such feelings had already taken root. 

Sure, he'd goaded her with the possibility. **_Not Love_**, she'd said, and his retort – **_Not Yet_**. Problem was, he'd lost a bit of that smug self-confidence since then. **_Do you even like me?_ **He'd been so exposed. Naked. In more ways than one. **__**

Sometimes. It was the best she could manage. 

Even that was nearly too much to admit. __

i feel this life slipping by   
i can feel this life slipping by 

Few people are given a second chance at life. Fewer still a third. Was this how she would spend the rest of her latest go-round? 

Or would it be a case of fourth time's a charm? She hoped it wouldn't come to that. Only, in hindsight, she hadn't even been given the chance to start over. There weren't any fresh starts, new chances, but rather the continuation of one tepid tale. Look at Buffy, side show freak, trapped forever in the same act, at the same carnival, with the same spectators. Hurrah. Dress up in a clown suit or pretend to be a strong man or a construction worker, it made little difference – underneath it all, she'd still be the Slayer. Would you like fries with that? 

desire is a state   
a state of ill repair   
it's ill prepared to cope   
it's ill prepared to care 

So many desires. **_Want, take, have_**. Faith, Queen of Cleavagy Slut-Bombs everywhere, had passed along that little piece of advice, and for a miniscule moment in her own life, it had seemed possible. Then someone, to quote many a slack-jawed Jerry Springer fan, had up and learnt her ass some responsibility. And to responsibility she had clung, for all of her last lifetime and most of this one. Except... with him. With Spike, she let go of everything. Took what she desired. It was the only time she could feel. Anything other than loss and despair and pain, at least. 

She wanted to feel him inside her, around her, with her, but at the same time, she couldn't handle such desires. Want, better yet _need_, pulled at her innards, divided her, until there were _two_ Buffy's – Buffy the idea, that existed in the minds of her friends and to which she tried to conform, and Buffy the needy, desperate-to-feel shell who clung to Spike in one instant and kicked him down in the next. 

Neither Buffy was as of yet prepared to care about anything. Or so she – or was it _they _– thought. 

i feel this life slipping by   
i can feel this life slipping by 

She didn't want it to. Was that progress? Was it caring about something, even if just herself? For the first time since her resurrection, a healthy fear of death had enveloped her. Invisibility had been a relief, albeit a temporary one, and learning that it could kill her... 

It had frightened her. 

She cared about Dawn as well. More progress. 

She had a sister, she had friends... she could still have both. Only they were slipping by, slipping by, or maybe she was slipping by but it was one and the same. Two outstretched hands that never met. Wave goodbye. 

time and time life's left me only   
feeling sick and feeling scared   
now love is strong   
my love is strong   
i'll go on and on and on and on 

His love was strong. That much she could see even as she refused to believe it. **_Try harder_.** A thing, a thing with no soul, a killer, a monster, if she was wrong, he might be attracted to her wrongness, but if she was just herself... why did he love her? What was it about Buffy, normal Buffy, that drew him to her? What made him think "I'm a vicious killer, now _that's_ the girl for me"? 

His love was strong, and he let it show. Hers was strong, but she couldn't... 

Blow after blow, the whole time angry not at him but at herself, for letting him in even a little. And for feeling when she shouldn't. _ What _ she shouldn't. Afterwards... she was unable to stand the sight of her handiwork. 

mercy is the cry of the soul that stirred 

She could never be his girl. How could she love that which had caused so much pain over the course of a century? How could she even consider it? She couldn't bear the responsibility... 

beneath the creeping vine   
a flower tries to change   
it tries to satisfy   
it's thirst without the rains   
i feel this change coming on   
i can feel this change coming on 

What other option was there? She craved him like he craved blood – another little tidbit he'd been right about. She had to avoid him, stay away from him, not be his, she couldn't be his... stay out of the darkness, and don't let him into the light. 

time and time life's left me only   
feeling sick and feeling scared   
now love is strong   
my love is strong   
i'll go on and on and on and on ****

Tell me that I'm wrong. _Don't forgive me. Please, don't forgive me. _Using him – if she was doing that, if she was wrong as a person even if not physically or spiritually wrong, than it was better. She'd rather be wrong, be using him, even if it wasn't proper or ladylike or any of that crap. Even if it made her a horrible human being. There was nothing ok about it, and she didn't want forgiveness, she wanted to be wrong,** _tell me that I'm wrong_**, because the alternative was so much worse... 

The alternative was that she felt love for something... some_one_ she was raised to hate. Trained to hate. Sworn to destroy. It was not ok to be using him – but it would be so much worse if she loved him. So much worse. 

mercy is the cry of the soul that stirred   
mercy is the cry and it's never heard 

She always hurt the ones she loved. Always. 

It was so much worse. 

love is all we have   
love is all we need 


End file.
